


Embrace

by yeaka



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Ficlet, Incest, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-26
Updated: 2014-02-26
Packaged: 2018-01-13 20:36:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1239955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A moment of Spock Prime’s deception on New Vulcan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Embrace

**Author's Note:**

  * For [queensusan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/queensusan/gifts).



> A/N: "Drabble" for “Sarek/Spock Prime” request from queensusan~
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

It’s proper until they reach the mouth of the tent. Then their fingers brush on their way inside, and Spock sucks in a breath and a forbidden shudder; years and years of _loneliness_ and having his mind in another body and jumping through time has all rattled his ability to suppress his shameful reaction to the things he truly _wants_.

Sarek doesn’t notice. Or if he does, he doesn’t say anything. Tragedy’s wrecked his own world, left his _t’hy’la_ as unreachable as Spock’s. He has his son, yes, and in a way, Spock has his father. But this isn’t the one he left behind, and this one looks at him, really _looks_ at him, and doesn’t see a son. 

Alone in the tent with the door fallen closed, the two men stand beside one another, kept close by the tiny confines of closed quarters. The expedition tents on New Vulcan are small; they don’t have the resources for luxury. They’re in Sarek’s now, next to the hard bunk that serves as his bed, the pole that holds up the fabric walls on their other side. A single lamp falls from that peak: the one electronic circuit in a pool of old fashioned make-dos. It lights them in an eerie, artificial glow, and Spock looks at the lines in his father’s face, seeing the subtle differences but mostly similarities. Sarek says quietly, “You are so very familiar.”

Spock simply nods. He’s wrong, he knows, for not divulging his true identity. He knows that Sarek can see touches of him, but years of strange, unpredictable experiences have shaped him in a way his own father can’t predict. He holds himself differently, speaks differently, knows so much more than Sarek’s Spock could comprehend. Some day, he knows, Sarek will learn the truth. Spock will have to tell him, or someone else will. If this continues as it is, their minds will link before that, and Sarek will see the truth for himself. ...But until then, they’ve been building _something_ , and Spock can’t bring himself to shake that. He’s gotten more affection from this father in this past month than he did from his own _father_ in the rest of his lifetime.

He holds out his hand, and Sarek lifts his, two fingers slipping over Spock’s. Their connection has built to this. They’ve spoken intimately, grown closer, worked in private and shared things that are not ordinarily shared. All that’s left is a physical connection, and Sarek’s been showing the signs; if Spock plays his cards right, tonight will close that gap. 

He’ll capitalize on how drawn to him Sarek is. He’ll be embraced by a man he’s always looked up to and _loved._ If it evolves into something different, something ‘unnatural,’ so be it. Spock’s entire being is unnatural. He’s seen more in his lifetime than he could dream of. In light of everything... this doesn’t seem that different. He just wants Sarek. Too much, maybe. He doesn’t care anymore.

Sarek steps closer to him as their fingers touch, that spark of pleasure at smooth skin on skin shivering through him. Sarek isn’t young, but he’s still handsome, younger looking than Spock is now. Sarek’s rugged, defined, beautiful in his statuesque way: a good catch for anyone, as Jim would’ve said. Sarek’s palm finally meets his, pressing in. Their hands hold together, fingers parted. The warmth in Sarek’s body is astounding. It draws Spock nearer, until their toes are touching through their boots, their robes too thick and in the way. Spock moves closer first, but Sarek is the one to close the distance. He kisses Spock lightly, chaste and sweet. 

He draws back and tilts, pushing in for something harder, something fiercer. His fingers capture Spock’s. Spock presses back just as strong, tongue snaking into his father’s mouth. He doesn’t care if there’s a human element. They’ve both had human _t’hy’la_. He’s sure that Sarek can tell, but Sarek doesn’t stop to say anything. Their lips fit together too easily, and Sarek’s tongue is sleek, silky, talented as it explores Spock’s mouth, corrals him back. He always thought of his father as talented. He dares to lift a hand to his father’s waist. He’s crossing a line, he knows. But having his father hold him back makes him tremble with a shameful _want_ , and Spock’s too spent to relinquish his desire. 

Sarek’s the one to push him back towards the bed, and Spock stumbles in his will to obey. They stop kissing long enough for Sarek to push him down—Spock falls to sit on the bunk, tilting up as Sarek leans down. They’re kissing again, their foreheads pressed together and disrupting each other’s bangs. Sarek’s two fingers drift along Spock’s cheek, delightful and full of pleasure. When they split to cover the side of his face, Spock grabs his wrist—no. If they meld... it’ll all be over. 

Sarek stops enough to murmur against him, “I feel as though I already know you, as though I’ve known you for so long.”

“And I you.” Spock distracts him with another kiss and tugs at his sleeve, urging him to follow.

A few tugs, and Sarek obliges. He climbs atop Spock on the thin mattress, straddling Spock’s hips, and descends upon him again, more kissing and touching, hands that slip over his wrists and up beneath his sleeves, sending little ripples of wonderment everywhere they touch. He keeps Sarek’s mouth busy half because he doesn’t want to hear Sarek say the lie of a name he’s given and half because he simply doesn’t want to stop—every time their lips press together, Spock feels _whole_ and _loved_ in a way he hasn’t felt in a long, long time. He has no right to take this, but this is the bond he might’ve always wanted with his father. He’s sick, and he’s learned to lie too well. 

It isn’t until their bodies start to move, until Sarek is rocking slowly into Spock, that Spock begins to quiver with need, come undone and lose his senses. He’s dragging Sarek with him, he knows—they’re both heady from the constant lack of oxygen and the stimulation to their lower bodies, pressed so tightly together and grinding into one another. It isn’t complete, not without the mind, but it’s getting there, so disgracefully _good_ that it nearly brings tears to Spock’s eyes—he can feel his emotions boiling closer. Sarek finally releases his mouth and nips at his jaw, nuzzling into the side of his face and stroking back his hair, and Spock arcs up into Sarek while he traitorously moans, “ _Father_...”

And then he spirals instantly into sickness with himself. He’s ruined it. Sarek stills atop him, lifting up enough to look down. Sarek’s eyebrows knit together as he _stares_ , as he takes in every contour of Spock’s face. Spock probably looks as wretched as he feels: a crash from his earlier high. 

He knows what he must do, and he lifts his hand. His fingers splay around Sarek’s face, and Sarek’s hand closes over it, reassuringly holding it on. Sarek doesn’t look away.

Spock gently threads their minds together, overwhelmed with almost as much guilt as love.


End file.
